


Tales of Chronospheres and Time

by MissCrazyWriter321



Category: Alice in Wonderland (Movies - Burton)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Cooking, Developing Relationship, F/M, Falling In Love, Fluff, Past Alice/Hatter - Freeform, Pining, Post-Canon, slight angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-26
Updated: 2021-01-26
Packaged: 2021-03-18 12:53:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,038
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28992489
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissCrazyWriter321/pseuds/MissCrazyWriter321
Summary: “You’d think me mad if I told you.”“I already think you mad,” he answers easily, but without malice. In fact, his eyes sparkle playfully, and despite her best efforts, she finds herself relaxing.He can’t be serious. Still, the memories tug at her, and she’s learned not to tell her mother about her adventures. The words slip out before she can stop them. “It’s a device that allows the user to travel through the sea of time.”It’s a challenge, she’s aware, raising her eyebrows at him as she throws down the gauntlet. He accepts easily, tilting his head to the side. “So, time is a sea?”
Relationships: James Harcourt/Alice Kingsleigh
Comments: 6
Kudos: 11





	Tales of Chronospheres and Time

**Author's Note:**

  * For [FanaticFangirl2602](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FanaticFangirl2602/gifts).



> Hey, everyone! Fun fact: This fic has been sitting in my drafts, mostly written, since shortly after the second movie came out. I've been hesitant to post it, partially because I know this fandom is mostly made up of Alice/Hatter fics, and I haven't really seen anything for this ship. I also hoped to add more to it one day, but honestly, it stands on its own pretty well, I think. 
> 
> That said, this fic makes me really happy, so I'm going to go ahead and share it with the world, in celebration of 10 years of me posting fanfic (January 20th). I hope a few of you enjoy my little rarepair. 
> 
> Also, this is my third time trying to post this fic in the past few days.

They’ve been out at sea a little over a week, and things have finally slowed down enough for Alice to rest a bit during the day. Privately, she hates it. She can already feel herself getting restless. She does enjoy being aboard the ship, but not when she isn’t busy. Not when she has time to think about Underland and the people she misses.

She’s staring at the horizon, so lost in her thoughts that she doesn’t hear him approach until he speaks.

“What’s a Chronosphere?” 

At first, she thinks he’s joking. “Excuse me?” She turns to him skeptically, pushing her curls out of her face so she can see him. He shrugs, smiling his usual, carefree smile, the one she often cannot help but return.

Not today.

“When you broke into the house before, you were crawling around on the floor, looking for a Chronosphere.” Before she was found. And locked in a mental institution. Alice shudders at the memory. James continues. “I’d just like to know what it is.” 

So he can laugh at her? He doesn’t seem the type, she muses. He’s never mocked her before. And yet… Why else would he ask? She knows how she can seem to people, and is far past caring. Smirking, she replies. “You’d think me mad if I told you.”

“I already think you mad,” he answers easily, but without malice. In fact, his eyes sparkle playfully, and despite her best efforts, she finds herself relaxing.

_ He can’t be serious. _ Still, the memories tug at her, and she’s learned not to tell her mother about her adventures. The words slip out before she can stop them. “It’s a device that allows the user to travel through the sea of time.” 

It’s a challenge, she’s aware, raising her eyebrows at him as she throws down the gauntlet. He accepts easily, tilting his head to the side. “So, time is a sea?” 

She shakes her head, her lips tugging in amusement. “No, Time is a person. He’s actually quite lovely, once you get to know him. A bit gruff, perhaps, but kind, all the same.”

He nods, as if this makes perfect sense, taking a step toward her to lean against the railing. “So, the sea belongs to Time, then?”

To be honest…

“I suppose so. I’ve never really thought about it.” Memories wash over her, and she feels the words spilling over her lips. “There is a sea, though. I’ve seen it. It’s beautiful, and a bit frightening. You can see the past if you fly close enough to the waves. It’s never still, either. It always seems to be moving and shifting.”

She catches herself, realizes she’s been rambling, and swallows, certain he’ll laugh at her now. But he’s only staring at her with rapt attention, as if soaking in her every word.

“Where would one find this sea?” He questions, and she hesitates. She’s never breathed the word aloud to anyone in Overland, and she doesn’t want to end up back in the asylum. But he looks so earnest, and in any case, they’re in the middle of the ocean. Who will he tell? Her mother? She helped her escape that dreadful place. Surely she won’t send her back.

“Underland,” she answers softly.

She still doesn’t know if he believes her, can’t imagine that he would, but he’s asking, and the stories are dancing on her tongue, begging to be let out.

“Tell me about this… Underland.” He requests, and she finds herself complying.

“It’s miles and miles under the earth. I’ve never gone there without feeling like I was falling for hours. And it has colors like nothing our world has. Animals talk, and there are some kinds I’ve never seen. Things that you think are impossible just kind of… Happen. Sometimes it feels more like home than this does.”

He’s quiet for a moment, absorbing all of this, and she chances a glance at him. His expression is unreadable, and in spite of herself, she cannot help but be disappointed. There are painfully few people in Overland that she can talk to, and he has always been kind to her. His friendship is not one she wants to lose. Still, she reasons, what use is a friend who will not accept you? She steels herself, meeting his eyes.

“Do you want to go back?” He asks finally, and she pauses. 

“I’m not sure.” It doesn’t matter, in any case. They are a world away from rabbit holes, and she has tried every mirror onboard, to no avail. “I love the work we do. I love the sea, the fresh air… The people. Some of them, at least.” He raises a brow, but she presses on, unwilling to follow that train of thought. “I wouldn’t mind visiting, though. Seeing my friends, checking in on them.” 

When he lapses back into silence, she thinks she might scream. Mock her, laugh at her, judge her, whatever he will do, but get it over with. She cannot keep waiting for the other shoe to drop. 

Maybe he won’t say anything. He’s too polite to be cruel to her, so now that he has seen her madness for what it is, he will simply withdraw from her, keeping his distance. That might almost be worse than cruelty. 

“Goodnight, James,” she murmurs, turning away. It is late, and she is in desperate need of sleep before morning. 

She is almost to her cabin when he calls to her. “Will you tell me more about this place tomorrow?” 

Against her better judgement, she nods. “Of course.”

-

“And the March Hare is  _ not  _ the White Rabbit?” He checks, and she almost wants to laugh.

“Definitely not.” She grins at him, the mental image clear in her mind. “I can hardly say which of them would be more offended by the idea.” 

He nods gravely. “Then I shall be sure not to mention it around them.” 

Is that a jab? She eyes him carefully, but he seems sincere. After a lifetime of mockery from others, his honest interest can seem suspect to her. There is something refreshing about it, she has to admit. He goes to such effort to understand everything she says, no matter how absurd, and whenever she tests him, he remembers. 

“The White Rabbit is always running late,” she clarifies. “The March Hare is obsessed with dinnerware.” 

He hums. “White Rabbit, March Hare, Mally, Chess, Iracebeth, Mirana…”

“The twins,” She reminds him.

“Ah, yes. Tweedledum and Tweedledee. Unfortunate names, really.”

At this, she cannot help but laugh. “They suit them well.” 

He laughs in reply, warm and full. She marvels a bit at being laughed with, as opposed to at. 

There are not many places onboard the ship that lend themselves to privacy, so they often find themselves in the kitchen, preparing dinner together. There is a cook, but he was brought onboard out of affection, not talent, and it is usually just as well that they cook.

Why they need privacy to speak, she isn’t certain. Technically, there is nothing improper about the conversations, and Alice has never particularly cared for propriety in any case. However, she finds that she likes it, having these talks alone, and that is enough for her. After all, she cannot have anyone overhearing her tales of Underland. They’d declare her unfit for captaincy in an instant. 

She pushes away that troubling thought, turning to stir the soup. Behind her, he swallows, and she braces herself for whatever question has occurred to him. 

“They all sound like wonderful friends,” he murmurs. “Tell me: are there any others?”

She considers for a moment. “The Bandersnatch, but I suppose he isn’t a friend. More of a pet. Oh, and Bayard, of course!” 

There is another name sitting heavy on her tongue, and she is not altogether sure why she hasn’t said it yet. He is her dearest friend in Underland, but for reasons unknown, the thought of telling James about him fills her with dread. 

Perhaps he hears the hesitation in her words, because it takes him a few seconds too long to reply. When he does, however, his tone holds only the open curiosity she has grown so used to seeing. “And what is Bayard?”

“A dog.” 

She frowns. Whoever has misplaced her spoons may soon find themselves thrown overboard. She checks the drawer they’re meant to be in once more, willing them to appear, but this is not Underland, and wishing for things does not make them occur. 

The creaking of a board tells her that James is rising, coming closer to her. For reasons she cannot explain, she finds herself paralyzed, unable to look back. The moment feels very heavy, but she cannot say  _ why. _

He draws closer.

Closer.

“And is this dog a friend, or a pet?” His voice isn’t quite steady now, though she cannot imagine why. Perhaps if she could see his face, things might make a little more sense, but her eyes are still stubbornly fixed in front of her, and her neck refuses to turn. 

She forces herself to focus on his question. “Friend, mostly. He risked his life for all of us.” 

He is near enough for their clothing to brush, for her to feel his breath against the back of her head, when he stops. He could easily touch her, but he only reaches past, sleeve brushing her arm, and tugs open a different drawer. 

Ah. Yes. That is where they decided to move them.

“Thank you,” she manages. 

For several seconds, she thinks he will not step away at all, but eventually he does, and she allows herself to breathe. 

“It’s no bother.” He clears his throat, sounding more steady when he continues, “But I must know: What makes this bandersnatch a pet, when even the dog is a friend?” 

“Well-” She turns instinctively, startled by the question. “Honestly, I’m not certain. The way he acts, I suppose.” Though, does he act any more like an animal than Chess or Bayard? He cannot talk, to be sure, but that is hardly the mark of personhood. The question settles under her skin uncomfortably, and she rolls it over in her head. 

James smiles, that quiet smile she has by now grown quite familiar with. It tells of a gentle sort of pride, the kind he gets when a question stumps her. She has, in spite of herself, grown quite fond of that smile. 

“Well, then.” He gestures to the waiting dinner. “Shall we?” 

“We shall,” she answers reflexively. Then, after a moment’s pause- “James?” 

“Yes?”

“I-” She does not altogether know what she wants to say. There must be words for the way she comes to life when they are talking, and how much she enjoys his undivided attention, but she does not know them. In truth, she isn’t entirely sure it isn’t simple loneliness. “Tomorrow, I’ll tell you about the time I slayed the Jabberwocky.” 

His smile is far too bright to be human; he  _ must  _ be from Underland. “I’d like that.” 

-

“There is someone else,” she murmurs, soft enough that she isn’t sure he’ll hear. “In Underland. His name is Tarrant.”

They’re sitting side by side, lounging on the deck, enjoying the quiet starlight together. She’s halfway through a tale about Time, but she cannot bring herself to finish it. Not when such an important piece is entirely missing from the story. 

He rarely bats an eye at her odd rabbit trails, but this one gives him pause. She can feel the tension blooming in him, and it grows in her as well, though she cannot quite say what is causing it. 

Finally, he nods. “Do you love him?” 

_ Oh.  _ In all this time, she has never given proper thought to what this might seem like. Properness has rarely been a big concern of hers, after all, and he seems more than content to follow her lead in that area. Now, though, she is hyper-aware of the amount of time they have spent alone, and how very close he stays when they are. 

What surprises her almost as much as the realization is the lack of panic she feels at it. Romance has always been a difficult idea for her, simply because too many people she has loved over the years have found themselves in cages, their inner lights slowly dying, as they fell to traditions they didn’t want. 

With James… She does not think that would happen. The two of them are adventurers, and he always encourages her to grab every star she can. He would not stop her if they were wed.

His shoulders slump, and it occurs to her that her mind has wandered off again. While she has been planning a wedding, he’s been awaiting an answer. 

“I don’t know,” she admits after a moment, dropping her gaze to her blanket. “I think I could have. But it all happened so fast, and now… Now, he’s gone. Or I’ve gone. I suppose it doesn’t matter, at any rate; I’ve lost him.” 

There is more she wants to say, reassurances about his own standing with her that she should offer, but grief creeps up her veins and into her soul, squeezing tightly. She hasn’t truly allowed herself to think of Tarrant as  _ gone,  _ and now that she has, she cannot stop. 

James’ hand settles on her arm. Even through all the ridiculous layers on this dress, she can feel its warmth. “Tell me about him?” 

She  _ aches,  _ and for a moment, she isn’t certain that she’ll be able to speak at all. “He’s… A hatter.” 

A smile plays at his lips. “Is he mad?” 

The rush of fondness is almost unbearable. “He’s the maddest man I’ve ever met.” 

“He’d have to be, wouldn’t he?” James’ voice is quiet, almost as if he’s speaking to himself. Through it all, his gentle smile never wavers. 

She allows herself to dig down into the memories locked inside, tugging them to the surface. “He’s gallant, and dashing, and brave… So terribly brave. He stands up for what’s right, no matter how dangerous. Once, it nearly cost him his head. Literally.” In spite of herself, she smiles at the way Chess told the tale. “He helped me find my way in Underland. He believed in me, even when I didn’t.” 

The words hang in the air for a long moment, and she half-notices the handful of tears slipping down her cheeks. Suddenly, she’s uncomfortably reminded of Aunt Imogene, dreaming of a prince that has never come. Does she sound like that now? 

“A perfect fit.” There is no edge to his words, only warmth, and that warmth seeps into her soul. Then he rises without warning, offering her a half-smile. “I should call it a night. The captain gets cranky if I’m not awake on time for my shift.” 

She laughs, some of the discomfort from before finally fading. Still, she cannot help but ask as she rises: “James?” 

“Hm?” He’s still smirking, too proud of his little barb. 

“Do you think I’m mad?”

He doesn’t pause. “Of course I do,” he says, matter-of-factly, and normally it would be just the reply she’d want, but today, it only grows the uneasiness inside of her.

“James, please, I’m being serious. Do you... “ She is not sure how to phrase this. “Do you believe me when I talk about Underland?” 

The humor fades from his face, and he sighs. “I…” Her stomach drops. “I believe that you believe it. I believe that, for you, Underland and magic and Jabberwockies are as real as this ship, or me, or anything else in this world. More real, even.” He swallows. “I believe that Tarrant is real. As for the rest, I…” He shrugs, maybe searching for words, and she finds she cannot breathe. “I don’t know what to think.” 

It feels too final, and her uneasiness turns to panic in an instant. She’s all too used to people thinking that her tales are all in her head, but not  _ James,  _ not now. She’s surprised by her own hurt, spiraling inward. 

“Alice.” He reaches for her, hesitating only a moment before tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. It’s far too forward, and she would probably scold him for it, but her mouth firmly refuses to work. “I don’t know if it’s real. But I also don’t know that it isn’t. And when I listen to you talk, you  _ make  _ it real. At least for me. I wish I could tell you that I don’t have any uncertainty, but I do.” 

His gaze is definitely lingering on her lips. Will she stop him if he leans in? She isn’t sure. 

“I don’t know if I believe in Underland, Alice. But I believe in you. Is that enough?” 

Before she even has time to think, she knows her answer. “Yes.”

He smiles, withdrawing his hand, and nods. “Thank you.”

“But you’re wrong,” she blurts, words tumbling out without her permission. “About-what’s real to me.” 

This throws him, briefly. “Oh?” 

“Not about this world. You’re right; Underland feels much more real to me than this place. All of the colors here are so dull, and people just go about their mundane lives without ever taking risks. Without ever truly being alive. But-” Her cheeks heat, much to her frustration. It is one of the terrible effects of being so fair-skinned: there is no hiding her embarrassment. “You’re wrong about you.” 

His eyes lock on her, and she is not quite convinced  _ he  _ is breathing. “How do you mean?” He asks carefully. 

“You’re real to me, James.” She swallows, willing him to understand. “As real as Underland.” 

To most, that would be an utterly inane statement, but James is not most. His shoulders sag once more, this time in relief, and he gives her the softest smile she has ever seen. “I’m glad,” he manages, and she cannot help but smile in reply. 

“Now, get some rest,” she orders, taking on her _ ‘Captain Voice.’ _ “Your boss sounds like a difficult woman.” 

His eyes sparkle when he answers. “Oh, but she’s worth it.” 

She is still laughing when she pulls the covers over her head.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading, and I hope you enjoyed!!


End file.
